In recent interviews, one of the questions that has been put to me is: am I a sex addict? Whilst I expect this to be asked – I am, after all, a woman who writes, with gleeful abandon, almost solely about my sex life – it also is infuriating, because reducing me down to a tired label just seems lazy and narrow-minded. Plus, it couldn’t be further from the truth.

So I calmly explain that whilst I clearly enjoy sex, I’m not an addict of it: I don’t need to shag to feel better about myself; I’m not in denial about my emotional problems and need sex as a release; I don’t fuck random strangers on street corners in order to get off (well, not very often, anyway). In my mind, for a person to be a sex addict, they do, you know, need to actually be having sex, so given my current dry spell I barely qualify as being sexually active, let alone an addict.

Someone recently also asked me if I thought there was something wrong with me, because of my sex obsession.

‘Have you ever had a partner who was really up for sex?’ I asked him. ‘Have you been with a girl who was always in the mood; who jumped you at any opportunity; who really loved shagging you?’

‘Of course’, he replied.

‘Did you think something was wrong with her?’

He paused. ‘No, it was great actually; she had a very high sex drive.’

‘You’ve just answered your own question.’

Just because a woman enjoys sex, it seems that she must be seen as pathological in some way; that she must be abnormal, or bad, or – as in my case – an addict. Why can’t women just like sex? Why can’t we be seen to enjoy it, without being called ‘sluts’ or ‘whores’ or ‘addicts’? Why must something be wrong with us, just because we openly express our needs, desires and wants?

I can’t answer that, but I will say that I am bored of the stereotyping; it’s tiresome to see the same old shit dragged out, whenever we challenge the view that women are ‘naturally’ passive, or when we counter the sexist labels assigned to us through the mainstream representation of female sexuality. I know my struggle to present an alternative to these views, is but in its infancy; I expect to be attacked for my perspective, every step of the way. It’s a dull fight, but someone’s got to do it, I guess.

Anyway, it is not without some irony that I’m aware most people reading this are, most likely, having more sex than I am, and with more frequency. You lucky bastards. I would be happier, of course, to be shagging on a regular basis and I hope to be doing so again soon – hopefully with a decent man who can fuck me with his brain as well as his cock.

If I don’t meet him tomorrow, not to worry: I will, most likely, end up getting into bed with an old fuck buddy or more preferably, perhaps dabble with someone new, in order to fulfil my needs. But doing so does not make me an addict; it just makes me someone that really enjoys having sex and who is prepared to do it on a purely casual basis as well as within a relationship.

A normal woman, in my opinion. Anyhow, I might be more enthusiastic than many women with my joyful approach to sex, but that doesn’t mean that I am the only woman thinking about it, or doing it – I’m just one who’s prepared to write about it and broadcast it to the world, that's all.